


Prelude of a Vestige

by altmeris



Series: Elder Scrolls Online stories [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Gen, Torenn Salvia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altmeris/pseuds/altmeris
Summary: Torenn Salvia and two travel companions are murdered by the King of Worms.





	Prelude of a Vestige

The torchlight flickered eerily on the cold stone walls as the prisoners were lead in single file through the stronghold. Many were struggling or sobbing, but the Worm Anchorite yanked on the chain lead, pulling them all into a staggering, reluctant march.

Among the prisoners was Torenn Salvia, a young halfling with white hair, who trudged on in a sick, dazed stupor. She knew nothing good could come of this. Everyone knew that death awaited them.

The light ahead grew stronger, though the Anchorite’s torchlight remained unchanged. As they got closer, horrible sounds reached their ears- the sounds of petrified pleading, screams of agony, and a dull, spurting sound that could only be a blade piercing flesh.

The hallway opened into a large room, lit by torches on the walls and pale candlelight spells. Red banners hung from the walls, depicting either the Order of the Black Worm’s crest or a crest resembling the head of a horrible, horned, demonic creature. Cultists robed in back stood in silence around a large altar, smeared with blood and grime. A stomach-churning stench of gore and death nearly brought the prisoners to their knees; one of them retched loudly.

A tall Altmer in black armor and a spiked circlet stood behind the altar, facing the prisoners. His armor and his long, flowing white hair were flecked with blood.

None of the prisoners had ever seen him before, but each knew without question who he was. It was as if the very air stilled in his presence, as if every stone, every shadow, every clink of the prisoners’ chains whispered his name in a terrified wail.

Mannimarco, the King of Worms.

A cultist stepped forward and unhooked the closest prisoner from the chains binding him to the others. She dragged him forward, ignoring his blubbering cries of “please, have mercy!” and forced him onto the altar. He struggled but shackles appeared to bind him in place.

The cultist to the Worm King’s left began to chant in a rasping, guttural tongue that none of the prisoners understood. The Worm King twirled a bloody, golden dagger in his right hand, holding what looked to be a dark colored Soul Gem in his left.

“Please…” the prisoner on the altar groaned, but Mannimarco paid no notice. The dagger plunged down, the man screamed, and the Soul Gem sapped his soul away in a rush of blue.

A cultist dragged his limp corpse off of the altar and the cycle began anew with the next prisoner. And the next. And the next.

As Torenn was pulled closer, the cold fear in her chest was joined by something else. A magnetism, perhaps, some bizarre thrill of awe. She studied the Worm King intently, his eagle-like eyes, his hair like white silk, his intricate, intimidating armor. One could say he was beautiful, but that wouldn’t be the right word. No, every feature of his was terrible, but beautifully so. It was like staring at the most horrifying thing Oblivion could spawn crossed with a creature Dibella herself had sculpted. It was strange, it was awful, it was brilliant.

She stared until he turned his golden eyes in her direction as if sensing her gaze, and she looked away quickly.

Her time came soon enough. The female cultist had stepped forward to unshackle her when the Imperial man next in line shouted,

“Don’t take her! Please, don’t take her!”

“Quiet, scum!” the Anchorite snapped, giving him a sharp strike to the head.

The man stumbled, and Torenn turned her head to look at him. “There’s nothing you can do, Julius,” she said, “We are all going to die.”

“I’m sorry!” cried a man behind Julius, “It was all our fault!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Torenn said, tears spilling over as the cultist undid her connection to the other prisoners. “Goodbye, Nonus, Julius.”

“How touching.”

It was the Worm King that had spoken, and a chill spread through Torenn’s body as the deep, rough voice reached her ears. She didn’t know what she had expected his voice to sound like, but hearing it surprised her.

The cultist tugged her forward and forced her onto the altar. Torenn cringed at the feeling of the bloody stone, and she felt her stomach drop as the shackles bound her there. She looked up at the mer towering over her, the powerful mer whose name was synonymous with death, with terror, with fear and pain.

“Mannimarco,” she whispered, her voice quavering, talking more to herself than the Worm King.

As he looked down at her, cold indifference in his golden eyes, a bit of color returned to the halfling’s cheeks. “Well if I have to die… at least it’s like this. There are… worse fates than being murdered by such a mer as you.”

The Worm King paused for a moment, his eyebrows raised a fraction. “Indeed? Then I suppose you do not realize where you are going. You are going to Coldharbour, little halfling.”

Coldharbour! Molag Bal’s realm in Oblivion! Suddenly it all made sense. Mannimarco wasn’t just killing all these people to thrall their corpses. He was performing a ritual sacrifice for Molag Bal. Torenn’s eyes widened and she whimpered, but her eyes still did not leave him.

“Goodbye then… King of Worms,” she said.

“Goodbye, halfling.” And Mannimarco plunged his dagger into her heart.

She made a harsh choking sound like a sob, but still she gazed upon him, and the Worm King watched the life leave her eyes.

Julius and Nonus cried out in anguish as her soul drained upward into the Black Soul Gem and her body went still.


End file.
